The Sensation of Desire
by Ha'niqua
Summary: "The peculiar sensation of ice against my skin now, so cold it felt like I was on fire, was like I was being branded as a punishment for yearning for the unattainable." For the DG Forum's 2015 Kris Kringle.


This one-shot was written for MyLadyElise for the 2015 Kris Kringle at the DG Forum. Merry Christmas Elise!

 **Prompt:** Chocolate, Blue, Quill

 **The Sensation of Desire**

My earliest memory was of the feeling of frost covered glass pressing against my fingertips.

It was a feeling I knew well, and often as a child, as mum would cart me about Diagon Alley on one errand or another. Mum was a notorious window shopper, but I imagined she hadn't always fostered that particular hobby, and that it was a habit mum had taken up as our family steadily grew and she was forced to be increasingly thrifty with the household budget. _That's a lovely sweater for Bill_ , she would have thought to herself as she admired the window display and went to enter the store, only to catch a glimpse of the price tag poking innocently up from the collar. _Perhaps not_.

It was around the same time I learned to read that I became an unwilling accessory to mum's shopping ritual. There we were, bundled up in our signature Weasley jumpers and as many coats and scarves as we could take the weight of to combat the wind and snow, and mum had stopped dead in her tracks to examine the window display of an inconsequential shop in great detail.

I, of course, being five years old and decidedly more vocal when my older brothers weren't around to talk over me, was not happy being stranded on the street in the cold while mum stood around looking at _things_. The fact Honeydukes was just across the street, and I could just make out the curling, colourful font above the shop through the sleet made for a very cranky Ginny. But it didn't matter how much I had cried, or kicked, or screamed; mum had let out a sigh, and patiently dragged me home and confined me to my room as punishment for my behaviour. There would be no sweets for me that day.

Later in life, I grew to realise just how how deeply mum felt about _things_. As the only girl - and despite being the youngest of seven - I was spared the burden of more than one hand-me-down and instead provided with belongings in nearly-new condition. As I watched the youngest of my brothers receive threadbare robes and other miscellaneous items used almost to the point of breaking, I learned to appreciate how lucky I was in my unique position in the Weasley family. It was almost as though I was missing out on something great that my brothers all got to experience; receiving belongings that had history and presence, ones that could tell a story just by touch. It wasn't until I got my letter for Hogwarts that I suddenly had a need for any of my sibling's cast-off's, and it was almost an accomplishment to finally receive the same treatment as my brothers.

"We're so sorry, Gin-bug," Mum had apologised to me as I finally stopped waving my shopping list about with the enthusiasm only an eleven year old could muster when it came to school. "We're so, sorry we can't buy all of these things for you," she said, looking so distressed at the thought she couldn't give me what I needed that she looked almost comical with dad's arm around her shoulders, his usual expression of bemusement telling me he didn't really understand what they were apologising for. I'd been slightly deflated by the revelation, but I was not a spoilt child by any means; I was grateful for all my parents had provided me with so far, and I wasn't about to punish them for it.

Later that day, as mum and I had gone about Diagon Alley, the apologies had continued so frequently that I'd begun to grow irritable. "Look at those beautiful quills," Mum murmured reverently, as she approached the window of Flourish and Blot's, and I pulled as hard as I could on her arm to prevent her from getting closer, to no avail. "I'm so sorry we can't buy you a nice new set-"

I'd stomped my foot, childishly. "I don't _care_ , mum. They're just things."

Mum had looked taken aback, but hadn't said anything more and instead moved onto the next shop. My brothers had accompanied us on our shopping trips every year since.

The peculiar sensation of ice against my skin now, so cold it felt like I was on fire, was like I was being branded as a punishment for yearning for the unattainable. All my life, I'd put too much stock in sentiment and whimsy, and I could feel the eleven year old who had stamped her foot and yelled at her mother in Diagon Alley clawing to get out.

"Well?" My boyfriend prompted as he took the delicate platinum band from me, the deep blue sapphire glinting at me from its nest of diamonds while he slipped it onto the fourth finger of my left hand.

"It's… beautiful," I told him as I stared at the thing, because it was. It was the kind of ring mum would have admired in a window display, all perfection and newness.

I dragged my gaze away from the ring to look at Draco, who was watching me with his usual cryptic expression, brow raised as though he didn't know what to make of me, either. It was the face of the man I loved; one I'd accidentally become fascinated with over the years because every line and expression held an odyssey, if you had the inclination to read it.

"You still haven't answered my question," he said, and I laughed, suddenly cleansed of my disdain for the ring perched on my finger. It didn't matter what the thing looked like; it was what the man I loved had chosen for me. A blank slate for us to create history, together.

"Oh, of course I'll marry you," I leaned forward and kissed him, teasing his lower lip the way I knew he loved me to. "I thought you knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I know," he said with a smirk, the back of his fingers brushing the line of freckles spattered across my cheekbone. "But I want the world to know it, as well. We're indestructible."

"That, we are," I said, taking his hand in mine with a smile. "How quickly can we get a marriage licence?"

Draco's smirk grew, "Twenty-four hours is a little short notice for a wedding, don't you think."

"Exactly. Now let's get to the Ministry and sign those papers before our mothers find out," I paused, grinning at him. "Should I at least throw on a white dress?"

He examined me, in a pair of jeans, a blouse, my hair loose around my shoulders and only a dab of lipstick left of my makeup. "No; you're perfect, just as you are."


End file.
